I was afraid of seeing him and looking into his blue eyes, not because of what he would do to me but because of what I would do to myself.  Six years after it started, four years after I left that Hudson Valley town, I admit I still have strong feelings for the man I alternately would call, to friends, Mr. Wonderful and my arsenic.  I promised myself  I would never fall in love with him or any other man ever again, lest I let myself get hurt once more.  And so far I half hope my self-prescribed locking myself in the castle syndrome has worked in the affirmative. 

I am a divorced city woman born at the tail end of a baby boom suffering from something called Limerence.  I have a ridiculous and obsessive romantic attraction to one man in particular, and I believe that I am in love. I could never accept that there would actually be a name for what I have kept to myself all this time. And I wish that he would feel the same way toward me, but he is with another woman.  So I have decided the best approach to helping yours truly get over this desire is to avoid him, to never get close enough to hope to brush up against him.

The other day I went back to that little whistle-stop to visit friends.  It’s a modest community, especially for me a city girl who transplanted there.  There was no way of avoiding what I believed I wanted to leave behind.  Or was there?  I left off my dog with a friend to watch because he has alzheimers and can’t be alone.  When I got into my Toyota, I noticed I forgot my sunglasses.  It sounds silly, but I needed them to hide behind, like no one would notice I was back in town.  As I jumped out, I locked the door because I was leaving my bag in my little Corolla.  I, also, left my keys in the car, an unfortunate habit of mine.

I complained to my acquaintance about what happened to the keys.  I felt like hitting myself.  She suggested I call him, that he is the expert in dealings of this nature.  I know he is the best in town, she meant at unlocking locked up situations like automobile doors.  I froze and stammered that I couldn’t.  He, the young ace mechanic in that village, and I had a history.  Somehow she didn’t know that, that was what she said to me.  I had promised myself that I would never call him ever again to rescue me from my car disasters, and I worked hard to keep that pinky swear.

When I lived there, he survived my running out of gas multiple times, smokey autos, slippery brakes and exploding radiators.  I never did those things on purpose.  I don’t belong behind the wheel, that’s what my driving teacher had said repeatedly.   In the beginning, to get my hunky mechanic’s attention, I figured out how to deflate a tire.  He knew it.  And I repeatedly locked my keys in the huge old boat of a Chevy I drove.  One of his rescues earned me the most passionate kiss that ever existed.  Another save never happened because he needed to pick up his daughter.  I had to face the state police for help. 

During this trip to my first post dissolution home, I was determined not to contact him.  To guarantee no connecting, I had deleted his cell phone number.  These days I lacked the confidence in wondering if he’d leave behind a major lube job to help me.  Last time I saw him at the new shop he turned his back to me.  Can I blame him?  Who would need this melodramatic basket of thespian lunacy!  And I didn’t want to be seen as chasing a man who has moved on with another woman, although I always wondered if he felt at least a little bit of what I felt for him. 

I called the gas station in town where he used to do tune ups.  They knew me.  I said it was Bonnie being Bonnie.  One of the mechanics came by to help me.  He said he wouldn’t charge me but wondered why I didn’t call the shop where my Limerence guy now works.  I said that place was next on my list.  Luckily, he was able to open the door for me.  I was relieved that I didn’t have to make that call and face the rejection.  I kept lying to myself, saying I would never again be interested in a fella who was not interested in me the same way.

Later that day I found out the man I am busy running from had an appointment to be in the same place that I was supposed to be at last week at about a similar time.  If I had been there, another pal of mine said she would’ve protected me and I finished the sentence by saying “from myself.”   She nodded in agreement.  But that day, I had to cancel because I lost power.  The lights were out.  A big tree fell down, taking with it a smoldering wire.  I chalked it up to fate taking care of things.